High On Grief

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<img src="HoG/imgs/HoGcover.png" width="500px"> a mini-sequel to <i>[[Yancy At The End Of The World!|https://norbez.itch.io/yancy-at-the-end-of-the-world]]</i> written & programmed by [[Norbez Jones|https://norbezjones.carrd.co/]] starring [[HattyVA|https://x.com/HattyVA]] as Yancy [[Begin|0]] <<if $true is "yes">><<timed 0.1s t8n>> <<run Engine.restart();>> <<run Save.browser.clear();>> <</timed>><<else>><<endif>>

I got my eye on my kitchen timer, my eye darting between it and the oven. My "special brownies" are almost done, made with a highly illegal ingredient. The moment I’ve been waiting for is coming fast. And as it approaches, I can’t help but ask myself: [[Why am I even doing this?|1]]

[[. . .|2]]

Not too long ago, my mom died. Honestly, that should’ve made me feel <i>[[elated|3]]</i>.

She’s been my tormentor since I was 5 years old. Emotionally & verbally abusive, always finding something wrong about me (even before I came out as queer, which made her Christian self FURIOUS), and never thankful for what I tried to do for her. Held me back from photography, the hobby I wanted to pursue most, which is now my biggest passion. And now, I don’t have to worry about that anymore. But for some reason . . . part of me misses her. Even though she was, objectively, a shitty person, I would get her back if I could. [[I’ve been trying to figure out why ever since she died.|4]]

It’s occupied my mind for weeks, while getting, "Sorry for your loss," calls from Mom’s religious family, who would otherwise never talk to me, and while preparing for Mom’s funeral. I didn’t have to do much; Mom’s best friend, Mrs. Cane, offered to coordinate with the family for me so I didn’t have to. I’d never really interacted with her before this, but she seems a super kind person. [[It’s baffling that Mom made friends with someone so gentle.|5]]

She even helped me navigate everything with Mom’s will. Mom left everything to me, including a sizable amount of money and the house (which she paid off years ago) and nobody in the family was happy about that. Mrs. Cane helped me ward off the angry phone calls. Having that inheritance feels like . . . [[. . . a curse.|5c]] [[. . . payback for everything she did.|5p]]

It’s frustrating, because the money she’s left me is a really big help. But my mom is the last person I would’ve wanted help from. [[It feels like even with her death, I owe her.|6]]

After all the things she put me through, I think I deserve a little financial reimbursement. [[It doesn’t take the pain away, but it feels satisfying.|6]]

Mom didn’t leave instructions in her will for how she wanted to be buried. Mrs. Cane knew what kind of service she would like, but asked me whether Mom would’ve wanted to be cremated. I told her yes, even though I knew Mom would never have wanted that. [[After all, I have a plan with the ashes. . . But that’ll come later.|7]]

When the day of the funeral arrived, I drove down to the First Faith Church (where Mom went to on Sundays) using the address Mrs. Cane had given me, and found a lot more people than I expected. As I went inside the sanctuary, I saw more children here than I expected–not an overwhelming amount, but still a sizeable one. Mom was a school nurse, so maybe that’s why? A group greeted me, who turned out to be members of the church who had known Mom well. A woman there went on and on about how <i>good</i> of a person Mom was. How she spoke so well of her "[[son|8]]".

I constantly told Mom during her life that I wasn’t her son, that I’m her agender child. But she refused to acknowledge my queerness because of her faith. These people were probably the same way. [[Did I try to correct their pronoun usage?|8.1]]

Once the woman next to me was done speaking, [[I corrected her|8y1]]:

It’s better if I keep my mouth shut. These people are probably homophobic assholes just like Mom. So there’d be no point in correcting them. I nod and, "Mmhmm," my way through the "son"s and "he"s, "him"s, & "his"s. [[Every single one is a little stab through the heart, but I just grin and bear it.|8n1]]

YANCY: I’m actually agender, and I use they/them pronouns. [[So if you could not call me Mom’s son, I’d appreciate it.|8y2]] <<audio "1_yagender" play>>\

The group around me looked uncomfortable all of a sudden. The woman who had been speaking [[laughed awkwardly|8y3]]. <<audio "1_yagender" stop>>\

WOMAN: Well, you were born male, weren’t you? YANCY: Does that matter? WOMAN: Of course it does! WOMAN: The body God gave you is sacred. Denying how He made you isn’t right. YANCY: But– WOMAN: We shouldn’t talk about this too much, should we? I mean, this day is about your mother. . . MAN: I’d have to agree with Maria. Today is about Jen. YANCY: Are you. . . Are you <i>serious</i>?! DIFFERENT WOMAN: Calm down, [[young man|8y6]]. Don’t make a scene. . . <<audio "3_aboutjen" play>>\

Rage boiled inside of me, and I wanted so badly to yell at them. Instead, [[I made myself walk away. My steps were forced & heavy as I went down to the church’s bathroom.|8y7]] <<audio "3_aboutjen" stop>>\

I went inside and locked the door. One deep breath. Then another. As I continued, my fists clenched. It was just like Mom all over again, and that. Was. <i>[[Hell.|8y8]]</i> Jesus. Could I really put up with this for a full day?

YANCY: [[Why did I even try? I know better, damn it! (sigh) I shouldn’t even try at all. . . YANCY: Come on. I just gotta get through this, [[and then, I’ll never see anyone here ever again.|8y11]] <<audio "4.1_y_getthrough" play>>\

<<audio "4.1_y_getthrough" stop>>\ Hearing that out loud made me feel better. I left the bathroom, but stayed outside the sanctuary until the pastor started quieting everyone for the service. [[Then, I went in and took a seat in the back.|9]]

At the front of the room is a wooden coffin on display, held up on some sort of stand, behind an easel with a picture of Mom smiling. Under the picture is her name, her birth & death year, and the words, "You were a spark of joy in every life you touched." Finally, the whole display is surrounded by flowers and pictures of Mom. I stared at Mom’s glowing smile and felt resentment bubbling inside of me. How can no one see that her expression is insincere? That it’s a lie, a grin to hide her anger, or at least a manipulation, a smile she gives when a person does what she wants? Maybe it’s just me. Maybe to everyone else, she smiled sincerely, enjoyed their company. [[But not with me.|10]]

A tortuous amount of time later, [[the pastor quiets everyone for the service. As people gather in the pews, I find one in the back and sit down.|9]]

My thoughts are interrupted by [[the pastor’s voice|11]]. He’s standing behind a podium on the left of the display.

PASTOR DALTON: Good afternoon. I’m George Dalton, senior pastor at First Faith Church. PASTOR DALTON: We’re all here today to honor Jennifer Patterson–a loving mother, relative, and friend. Someone all of us, including me, cared for deeply. PASTOR DALTON: [[Jennifer touched many lives.|12]] As a school nurse, she was able to bless and care for children, and saved many lives by seeing signs of serious illnesses. PASTOR DALTON: Here in First Faith, she was a children’s church volunteer, and I’m sure all the parents here have a story from their kid about Jennifer’s skillful teaching, caring nature, and wit. (laughs) I know my eight-year-old, Brian, brought many tales to me after service! <<audio "5_pdsermon" play>>\

<<audio "5_pdsermon" stop>>\ He continued to go on, describing Mom’s goodness and soon quoting Bible verses to make his point. His words gnaw away at my heart, and I clench my fist. She was so kind to everyone she knew. Why not me? She was a great caretaker to so many kids. Why not me? [[Why did I get the worst parts of her, and no one else?|13]]

PASTOR DALTON: I was asked by the family not to "linger too long on a sermon" (laughs) and to let people here share their memories of Jennifer’s life. PASTOR DALTON: And I think it’s only right if we let her son come up first. [[Yancy, will you take the podium?|14]] <<audio "6_pd_herson" play>>\

<<audio "6_pd_herson" stop>>\ I looked up to see him looking right at me, and everyone else was following his gaze. My aunts & uncles, sitting in the front row, looked pissed–they probably wanted to go up first. I got the feeling that I don’t have a choice in the matter, so [[I stood and went up to the front, my feet dragging the whole way.|15]]

When I was close, Pastor Dalton left the podium, sitting at the front. I went where he was, and saw him give me a nod & a smile. I knew [[I should say good things about Mom. But thinking about doing that made my stomach twist.|16]]

[[What did I do?|16.1]]

<div style="text-align: left;">[[Talk about what Mom gave me.|16gave]]</div> <div style="text-align: right;">[[Talk about how Mom hurt me.|16hurt]]</div>

<div style="text-align: left;">[[Yes. I had to stand up for myself.|8y]]</div> <div style="text-align: right;">[[No. I didn’t bother.|8n]]</div>

I cleared my throat, [[taking a moment to come up with something.|16gave1]] Finally, I managed to speak. <<set $speech to "gave">>\

I took a deep breath. At first, I felt nervous, worried that I'd be judged, that I wouldn’t be taken seriously. But then I remembered—most of these people were total strangers to me, and the rest hated me anyway. Who gave a fuck what they think?! [[That gave me the courage to speak.|16hurt1]] <<set $speech to "hurt">>\

YANCY: Everyone's here because mom was such a <i>wonderful</i> woman, and she taught me everything I know about being a person. YANCY: She taught me how to care for the people around me, how to <i>[[really|16gave4]]</i> show love. <<audio "7_y_reallyshowlove" play>>\

<<audio "7_y_reallyshowlove" stop>>\ "Amen!" someone cried. I looked up. People were crying, nodding along, agreeing that yes, Mom certainly was wonderful. Did no one notice that I didn’t mean a word of what I was saying? A revolting feeling rose up in my stomach. I knew that iIf I talked anymore, I was going to break down. I stepped away from the podium and headed towards my seat. As I walked towards it, people patted my arm and whispered, "Good job." [[I didn’t reply.|17]]

When I sat down again, someone else went to tell a story about Mom, and I realized I had to <i>[[get out|18]] of there</i>. <<audio "12_pd_wellnext" stop>>\

YANCY: I know you all saw my mom as a good person. . . But for me, she was my tormentor. YANCY: The woman she was outside the house, the one you met, was a totally different person than the one she was to me. YANCY: All through my childhood, she verbally abused me, and threatened to hit me constantly. Behind closed doors, that was how she treated me, all the way up until she died. YANCY: [[She never changed, and she made my life hell.|16hurt2]] <<audio "8_y_tormentor" play>>\

<<audio "8_y_tormentor" stop>>\ As I said that sentence, Pastor Dalton stood up and came over to me. [[He gently wrapped his hand around my arm, tugging me away from the podium.|16hurt3]]

PASTOR DALTON: [[Maybe you should step away for a moment.|16hurt4]] <<audio "9_pd_stepaway" play>>\

<<audio "9_pd_stepaway" stop>>\ Hearing that ignited a fire inside of me, and [[I snapped:|16hurt5]]

YANCY: NO, damn it! [[I've been holding this in all of my life|16hurt6]], and you all are going to fucking <i>listen</i>! <<audio "10_y_damnit" play>>\

<<audio "10_y_damnit" stop>>\ That silenced everyone in the room, including the pastor, who just stared at me with a stunned expression. I turned to my audience and [[continued|16hurt7]]:

YANCY: She never accepted me as queer. She never loved me for who I really am. YANCY: I'm sure she told you that everything was going wonderfully with her "son". That was a total lie. YANCY: [[I'm going to miss her, sure. But I can't say I'm not glad she's gone. Because . . . I'm finally free.|16hurt8]] <<audio "11_y_free" play>>\

<<audio "11_y_free" stop>>\ I wrenched away from the pastor and headed towards my seat. [[No one dared to say a word.|16hurt9]] Then the pastor cleared his throat and went behind the podium.

PASTOR DALTON: [[Well. . . Who would like to go next?|17]] <<audio "12_pd_wellnext" play>>\

I got up and [[ran from the service like the room was filled with poison gas|19]]. I didn’t stop until I was outside, sitting on the church stairs and hugging my knees to my chest.

I just sniffled a little at first, but the tears came quickly, and [[soon, I was full-on bawling|21]]

YANCY: Fuck. . . Fuck fuck FUCK! YANCY: [[Aaaaaaaaugh!|22]] <<audio "14_y_Aaaaaaaaugh" play>>\

<<audio "14_y_Aaaaaaaaugh" stop>>\ I screamed into the sky a few more times, rage fueling my cries. I slammed my fist against my knees, [[trying|23]] to let the anger out. I couldn’t stand it. I just couldn’t fucking stand it.

When I eventually exhausted myself, I laid down on the church's porch and just stared up at the sky. [[Eventually|24]], the pastor found me.

PASTOR DALTON: [[There you are.|25]] After you rushed out like that, I was worried about you. <<audio "14.1_pd_thereyouare" play>>\

<<audio "14.1_pd_thereyouare" stop>>\ I sat up and stayed on the stairs, saying <<if $speech is "gave">>[[nothing|25gave]]<<else>>[[nothing|25hurt]]<<endif>>. The pastor came over and sat next to me.

PASTOR DALTON: It’s ok to miss her. I miss her too. YANCY: (laughs sadly) You miss a <i>very</i> [[different version of her|25gave1]] than I do. If I even miss her at all. . . PASTOR DALTON: Don’t say that. I know you miss her, Yancy. <<audio "15_y_pd_missher" play>>\

PASTOR DALTON: I also wanted to talk to you, man to man. YANCY: I’m not a man. PASTOR DALTON: Fine. [[Person to person, then.|25hurt4.1]] <<audio "19_pd_persontoperson" play>>\

I said nothing. [[I’d held it all in that long. I could do that for a little longer.|25gave2]] I stood up from the stairs, and so did the pastor.

YANCY: I have to step away for a bit. Gonna take a drive. I don’t know if I’ll come back. PASTOR DALTON: Alright. [[We’re all praying for you, Yancy.|25gave3]] <<audio "16_y_pd_praying" play>>\

He gave me a hug. I just stood there limply when his arms wrapped around me. He soon let go and walks away. [[I watched him leave, then headed to the parking lot.|26]]

I went inside my car, then drove about a block down, to the donut place I’d passed by on the way there. I pulled into the parking lot, took the keys out of the ignition, and [[just fucking broke down. Again.|27]]

<<audio "19_pd_persontoperson" stop>>\ I expected to fight with him to gender me correctly, but him accepting it easily made me feel relieved. But I was [[still tense|25hurt5]]. I knew he was here to talk about what I said in the sanctuary. Pastor Dalton put a soft hand on my shoulder.

PASTOR DALTON: Listen, I knew Jennifer for a few decades before she died. She joined First Faith not too long after I was brought on as a junior pastor. PASTOR DALTON: She was such a kind woman, so soft-hearted. Gentle and sweet to everyone, especially the children. PASTOR DALTON: I remember her bringing you to First Faith back when you were a child. We watched you grow up here. And I never saw her do anything to you that fits what you described. PASTOR DALTON: So, I have a hard time believing it. And I’m sure many at this funeral would say the same. PASTOR DALTON: In any case, this is a day to celebrate your mother. It’s not the right time or place to say things like that about her– YANCY: [[Not the right time?!|25hurt8]] <<audio "21_y_pd_timeorplace" play>>\

<<audio "21_y_pd_timeorplace" stop>>\ In a split second, those words turned the embers into a bonfire. I stood up and glared angrily down at Pastor Dalton, my arms moving frantically as I spoke, puppeteered by [[my rage|25hurt9]].

YANCY: NOT THE RIGHT TIME?! YANCY: Do you <i>know</i> how many times I tried to tell people about what Mom was doing when she was alive? Do you even <i>know</i>?! YANCY: And <i>what</i> did I always hear? People telling me that I was <i>lying</i> or trying to get <i>attention</i> or that I <i>shouldn’t talk about it</i>! YANCY: It was ALWAYS the wrong time for them to hear about what she was truly like! Every single time was the wrong time when she was alive! And now she’s DEAD! YANCY: So tell me, [[WHEN would have been the RIGHT FUCKING TIME?! HUH?!|25hurt11]] <<audio "23_y_WHEN" play>>\

<<audio "23_y_WHEN" stop>>\ Pastor Dalton stared at me with a sympathetic expression. [[That only pissed me off more, and I pointed an accusing finger at him, tearing up again|25hurt12]]

YANCY: Well?! TELL ME, DAMN IT! YANCY: [[Tell me. . .!|25hurt13]] <<audio "24_y_TELLME" play>>\

<<audio "24_y_TELLME" stop>>\ I let out a sob, and soon I was crying again. The pastor stood up and went over to hug me, but [[I pushed him away with one hand.|25hurt14]]

YANCY: [[Don’t fucking touch me.|25hurt15]] <<audio "25_y_donttouch" play>>\

<<audio "25_y_donttouch" stop>>\ He stepped back and stood there as a waterfall of tears streamed down my face. When the tears slowed, he finally [[spoke|25hurt16]].

PASTOR DALTON: I’m not going to answer your question, Yancy. PASTOR DALTON: It’s clear that you have a strong resentment towards your mother, and it’s coming out in an unhealthy way. Grief is a process, and takes many forms, but [[I hope you’ll soon see your mother as who she truly is.|25hurt17]] <<audio "26_pd_trulyis" play>>\

<<audio "26_pd_trulyis" stop>>\ I gritted my teeth, then stomped forward until we were [[inches apart|25hurt18]].

YANCY: [[Fuck. You.|25hurt19]] <<audio "27_y_FuckYou" play>>\

<<audio "27_y_FuckYou" stop>>\ Then, [[I walked past him and into the parking lot.|26]]

Then I drove home, feeling empty and numb. It’s been two weeks since the funeral, and I still feel disoriented, hollow. [[This is the first day in a while where I don’t have to deal with anything mom-related–not the funeral aftermath, the will, or the house.|28]]

[[Finally, I can keep my promise.|29]]

<i>DING!</i> The sound of the timer interrupts my thoughts. I walk over, put on an oven mitt, and remove the pot brownies from the oven. They smell differently than batches I’ve made before, a sour scent mixed in with the chocolate. Jeez. [[Yet again, Mom leaves a terrible taste in my mouth.|29.1]]

I set the small tray on the kitchen counter, and decide to tend to Babbit (my fur baby) while I wait for them to cool. I refill his food, get him clean water, and brush his fur. There’s something calming about the routine, the rhythm. That kind of stuff gets me through the day. Once I’m finished, I go back to the brownies. I get a knife and cut them in a 3 by 3 grid, then slice one of the pieces in half. [[10 brownies. Just enough.|31]]

I take the first piece and go to the couch. As I examine it, I remember [[why I’m doing this in the first place. . .|32]]

Back when I was a teenager, my best friend Nekoni and I would go to her place after school and smoke weed. I don’t remember exactly why, but that’s what we did. One of those days with her has stuck in my mind ever since. Basically, we were talking about my parents, and I made this joke that Mom wouldn’t get a funeral, that I’d cremate the body. For some reason, we both found that hilarious. Nekoni was the one who said, "We should use the ashes to make a batch of pot brownies." And we doubled over laughing about that! Nekoni asked me to swear I would do it, so I announced, "[[I solemnly swear to make my mom into more weed for us!|33]]"

<<if visited() is 1>>That day came to mind right after Mom passed away. [[And I decided I wanted to do it. It’ll help me get rid of these ashes, and maybe give me some time to think about everything.|34]]<<else>>I'm [[back in the kitchen, pre-high|34loop]], with the pot brownies' tray sitting on the kitchen counter.<<endif>>

I take a bite of the small brownie. It’s good, but a little off. Bittersweet. How fitting. It doesn’t take me long to finish it. I lean back on the couch, slouching in my seat. Babbit hops up on my lap, and I run my fingers through his fur as I wait for the high to kick in. My mind drifts, but doesn’t land on any particular subject; even my brain feels [[empty|35]].

Then, I take another slice of the brownies. This is <<if visited() is 1>>my second<<elseif visited() is 2>>my third<<elseif visited() is 3>>my fourth<<elseif visited() is 4>>my fifth<<elseif visited() is 5>>my sixth<<elseif visited() is 6>>my seventh<<elseif visited() is 7>>my eighth<<elseif visited() is 8>>my ninth<<elseif visited() is 9>>the last<<endif>> piece. That "off" smell still persists in the air. Going to the couch, I sit down and get comfortable as I prepare to do this once more. There <<if visited("34loop") is 1>>is one note on<<elseif visited("34loop") lte 3>>are a few notes strewn about<<elseif visited("34loop") lte 5>>are a decent amount of notes<<elseif visited("34loop") gte 6>>are a lot of notes scattered around<<endif>> the coffee table, from <<if visited("34loop") is 1>>my last call<<else>>previous calls<<endif>>. I look at [[the note|lastnote]] I wrote, from my last call.

Then, I start [[giggling out of nowhere|36]]. Before I know it, I’m busting a gut laughing, and I have no idea why. . .

[[What's so funny?|37]]

<div style="text-align: left;"><<if visited("od", "ol", "oh")>>==Things with Mom are finally over.==<<else>>[[Things with Mom are finally over.|o]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><<if visited("sh", "sr", "swq", "swa")>>==I’m doing something I made a stupid swear over when I was a kid.==<<else>>[[I’m doing something I made a stupid swear over when I was a kid.|s]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><<if visited("cg", "cn", "ca")>>==I just consumed my fucking mom. . . I’m becoming her, haha.==<<else>>[[I just consumed my fucking mom. . . I’m becoming her, haha.|c]]<<endif>></div>

I don't have to worry about her anymore. I don't have to feel guilty for not visiting her, or dread going over to her house, because there's no one to visit. [[It should feel like a relief, a big weight off of my shoulders. But it mostly feels depressing.|o1]]

It's something two teenagers came up with while high, for heaven's sake. It's kind of [[silly|s1]], when you think about it.

She's a part of me now. [[Her memories, her flesh.|c1]]

I have so many regrets. [[Things I could've done while she was alive.|o2]]

[[Like. . .|o3]]

<div style="text-align: left;"><<if visited("od")>>==I wish I had done more about her behavior in the past.==<<else>>[[I wish I had done more about her behavior in the past.|od]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><<if visited("ol")>>==I wish I’d let it all out in front of her, just once.==<<else>>[[I wish I’d let it all out in front of her, just once.|ol]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><<if visited("oh")>>==You know what, fuck that. I refuse to let her haunt me.==<<else>>[[You know what, fuck that. I refuse to let her haunt me.|oh]]<<endif>></div>

Once I realized who my mom was–an abusive parent–I realized [[I’d had the clues telling me that all of my life. I just hadn’t put them together.|od1]]

My biggest regret is holding my tongue so much and letting her walk all over me. [[I had every right to fucking lose it.|ol1]] To scream at the top of my lungs in front of her and just <i>unleash</i> every single terrible thing she's done, right in her face.

She doesn't deserve to stay with me like a ghost on my tail. [[Screw her! She's not here anymore!|oh1]] I deserve to have a life without her in it. Fuck. Her.

Why didn't I notice Mom’s true nature sooner? I was a kid, but [[that's no excuse.|od2]]

[[Is it?|od3]]

I take my phone from my pocket, trying to think of who I could talk to. I need someone's help, but [[who?|od3.1]]

Eventually, I decide to call [[Banjo|od4]]. He picks up after the first ring.

BANJO: Well hey there, Yancy! How're you doing? YANCY: Hey. Um. . . I'm kind of having a hard time. BANJO: Aw, I’m real sorry to hear that, kiddo. I can’t do much, but I’m happy to offer a listening ear. Talk to me; what’s on your mind? YANCY: (sighs) Well. . . YANCY: It’s just . . . [[I should have known.|od6]] BANJO: Known what? YANCY: That my mom is abusive. <<audio "29_y_ba_known" play>>\

<<audio "29_y_ba_known" stop>>\ YANCY: It’s all so <i>obvious</i> in hindsight. Clear as fucking day. And yet, I didn’t see it. YANCY: (sniffling) I kind of. . . I kind of <i>hate</i> my younger self for that. For missing all of the signs waving in their face. YANCY: How the house was tense, and at any time, I could be shouted at for doing something wrong. How I found excuses not to go home until late. How I always felt I was to blame for everything around me. How I was never enough YANCY: (angry & crying) It's all so obvious, so [[why didn't I notice|od9]] <i>any of it</i>? Why was I so fucking stupid?! <<audio "32_y_ba_fuckingstupid" play>>\

<<audio "32_y_ba_fuckingstupid" stop>>\ I continue to cry, feeling [[hatred for myself|od10]], fighting the urge to hit myself, like I usually do in these situations. Banjo listens to this for a while before speaking.

BANJO: (gently) You told me before that all of this started when you were young, right? YANCY: Yeah. The first of it I remember was from when I was in kindergarten. BANJO: Wow. So you were [[just a little kid, weren't you?|od12]] YANCY: Yeah. . . <<audio "33_y_ba_kindergarten" play>>\

<<audio "33_y_ba_kindergarten" stop>>\ BANJO: Listen, take it from someone who knows: it's easy to judge your kid self from an adult perspective, but remember: they were just a child. BANJO: That kid didn't know better. They trusted their mom because kids trust their parents. BANJO: [[Don't be too mad at them, ok?|od14]] <<audio "35_y_ba_trustedmom" play>>\

<<audio "35_y_ba_trustedmom" stop>>\ I sob, tears flooding from my eyes as Banjo whisper gently into my ear with a comforting voice. "There, there [[kiddo. It's ok; it's ok.|od15]]"

For the first time in a [[while|od16]] . . .

. . . those words actually feel [[true|end]]. <<set $lastnote to "banjo">>\

<<if visited() gte 10>>[[. . .|trueend]]<<else>>[[. . .|fullend]]<<endif>>

Feeling the urge to talk to someone, I take my phone from my pocket. I need someone's help, but who? [[Caleb.|ol2]] He might be able to understand.

My fingers are shaking as I dial the number and bring the phone up to my ear. [[After a few rings, he picks up.|ol3]]

CALEB: Hey, Yancy! What's up? YANCY: Eh, not anything good. I'm thinking about my mom right now. CALEB: Oof, yeah, that's gotta be hard. I know stuff with your mom is . . . complicated. How have you been since the funeral? YANCY: I'm, well, not the best. More than anything, I'm angry. CALEB: Angry? YANCY: Yeah. [[Angry I didn't say all of the things I could've said.|ol5]] <<audio "37_y_c_angry" play>>\

<<audio "37_y_c_angry" stop>>\ YANCY: I should have just <i>screamed</i> at her right in her face one time, let everything explode. But I held back, every time, because I "wanted to keep the piece" or whatever. YANCY: Why was I so fucking nice [[to someone who didn't give me any kindness back?|ol7]] YANCY: God, I'm so stupid. <<audio "39_y_c_fuckingnice" play>>\

<<audio "39_y_c_fuckingnice" stop>>\ CALEB: . . . CALEB: Listen . . . I know what that's like, you know? To be angry at someone who messed you up and held you back. CALEB: I know I don't understand it the way you do, since for me it was just a period of my life, but I get what you're feeling, ok? CALEB: There's a lot of frustration I have towards my ex, things I'd wish I'd said to him in his stupid face. For me, I let out those frustrations in private by [[writing one last letter to him that I never sent. That helped me move on.|ol9]] CALEB: Writing it down could help you, too. Um, if you want to, anyway. <<audio "41_y_c_OneLastLetter" play>>\

<<audio "41_y_c_OneLastLetter" stop>>\ YANCY: Hmm. . . YANCY: That <i>could</i> be a good idea. . . YANCY: Want to help me write it? I might get kind of emotional, so I could use someone by my side. CALEB: Oh, um, sure! I don't mind. YANCY: Ok, cool! Let me get a pen and paper. . . YANCY: Alright, I got it. [[How to start. . .?|ol11]] <<audio "43_y_c_PenAndPaper" play>>\

<<audio "43_y_c_PenAndPaper" stop>>\ I read aloud as I write [[the angriest, most pissed off letter I've ever written|ol12]], asking Caleb for feedback and suggestions. I get loud & angry & teary & sad, but Caleb doesn't judge.

Hopefully this will help me move on, [[at least a little bit.|end]] <<set $lastnote to "caleb">>\

. . . [[If only it was that easy. . .|oh2]]

If [[a simple phrase would remove the memories of what she did to me|oh3]], I’d probably say it in a heartbeat. Then again, if I didn’t remember what she did, I’d probably be a totally different person.

Would I be a better person than I am now? I don’t know. [[I should call someone about this.|oh4]]

I take my phone from my pocket, trying to think of who I could talk to. I need someone's help, but who? I go into my contacts, settle on [[Volt’s number|oh5]], and dial it. He picks up pretty quickly.

VOLT: Hey, Yancy! I know you’re kind of going through it with your mom right now. . . Everything ok? YANCY: No, not really. I have [[a question for you|oh6]], actually. VOLT: A question for me? YANCY: Yeah. <<audio "44_y_v_Question" play>>\

<<audio "44_y_v_Question" stop>>\ YANCY: Like, imagine someone who really hurt you in your life. If you could say the word, and forget everything they did to you, would you? VOLT: Wow. That’s. . . [[That’s a tough one.|oh7]] VOLT: Let me guess: from what you said in the server, you’re asking this question concerning your mom? YANCY: Yep. <<audio "45_y_v_ToughOne" play>>\

<<audio "45_y_v_ToughOne" stop>>\ YANCY: It’s hard, because if the pain could just disappear, if I could be free of it, I’d want it gone. But then again, [[without that trauma, who would I turn into?|oh8]] <<audio "46_y_v_TurnInto" play>>\

<<audio "46_y_v_TurnInto" stop>>\ VOLT: Yeah, I see what you’re saying. VOLT: I kind of get how you feel, a little bit. Things that hurt us make us into who we become, whether we like it or not. I can relate. VOLT: The people who hurt me. . . They made me determined to be better than them. To not let the cycle of pain keep going. If I wasn’t hurt in the first place, would I not be aware of that at all? YANCY: Yeah, [[exactly!|oh9]] (groans) God, this sucks. <<audio "47_y_v_Exactly" play>>\

<<audio "47_y_v_Exactly" stop>>\ VOLT: Maybe this is a cop-out, but honestly . . . I think the best answer to your question is, "[[I can’t, because that’s not possible.|oh10]] All I can do is accept what happened and what it made me into, then try to scrub away the bad stuff that came with it. <<audio "48_y_v_Cop-Out" play>>\

<<audio "48_y_v_Cop-Out" stop>>\ YANCY: Jesus. . . I really fucking hate that you’re right. VOLT: Oh, I’m sorry. . . YANCY: No, it’s ok. This has helped a little. Thanks. YANCY: Anyway, [[enough about me.|oh11]] How are things with your brother? <<audio "49_y_v_Right" play>>\

<<audio "49_y_v_Right" stop>>\ The two of us chat for a bit longer before I hang up the phone. [[Volt’s words echo in the back of my mind.|end]] <<set $lastnote to "volt">>\

<div style="text-align: left;"><<if visited("sh")>>==What were we doing, getting high like that?==<<else>>[[What were we doing, getting high like that?|sh]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><<if visited("sr")>>==I didn’t even realize how bad Mom was back then.==<<else>>[[I didn’t even realize how bad Mom was back then.|sr]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><<if visited("swq", "swa")>>==It aged like fine wine.==<<else>>[[It aged like fine wine.|sw]]<<endif>></div>

I mean, what were the two of us <i>doing</i>, getting high on a regular basis? It's so dumb. . . I should call Nekoni about it. She’ll probably have [[a laugh|sh1]] with me about it.

I didn't realize she was abusive or an angry person. [[Everything she did to me, I thought I deserved or earned by doing bad things, because that's what she told me.|sr1]]

Back then, I was just saying it to be silly, but now, I'm doing it for closure. I guess I'm grieving the "good mom" [[I never got to get.|sw1]]

I take my phone out of my pocket and dial her number. [[She answers right away.|sh2]]

NEKONI: Hey Yancy! I think you said this morning that you were making those special brownies today, right? YANCY: Yeah, and I just ate one. Don't judge, Necky! NEKONI: I'm not! (laughs) [[Anyway, what's up?|sh3]] <<audio "50_y_n_Necky" play>>\

<<audio "50_y_n_Necky" stop>>\ YANCY: I was thinking about high school. . . How many times we went to your room, smoked some weed, and [[just . . . chilled together|sh4]]. NEKONI: Yeah, those are some good memories. (laughs) I remember accidently mentioning it in a livestream once—back then, my audience didn't know I smoked pot! So it was kind of a scandal for some of the guys who watched me. You know the ones, the kind who think a girl has to be "pure" or whatever. YANCY: Fuck them, they suck. <<audio "51_y_n_Pure" play>>\

<<audio "51_y_n_Pure" stop>>\ YANCY: Oh, right. I called you because like. . . I don't know, it's kind of making me feel stupid, looking back; we were constantly smoking weed at your place. Why did we do that so much? NEKONI: (laughs) You're [[joking, right?|sh5]] YANCY: No? <<audio "52_y_n_JokingRight" play>>\

<<audio "52_y_n_JokingRight" stop>>\ NEKONI: It was because of you! Back then, you were always going to my place since stuff at home sucked for you. And the weed really helped you relax. [[The first time we did it, you told me you'd never felt so safe & cozy before.|sh6]] <<audio "53_y_n_BecauseOfYou" play>>\

<<audio "53_y_n_BecauseOfYou" stop>>\ NEKONI: It took me a while for me to build up the courage to ask you why, because it felt like a really personal thing for you to tell me. Like you making a confession or something, if that makes sense? NEKONI: Anyway, when I finally asked you why you felt that way—we were high and lying down on my bed—you told me it was because, 'Safe isn't really a thing at home. I hate to say it, but with Mom, the mood can change at any time. [[Here, I don't have to worry about that.|sh7]]’ <<audio "54_y_n_Confession" play>>\

<<audio "54_y_n_Confession" stop>>\ YANCY: . . . I said that? NEKONI: Yeah. I guess you don't remember, huh? YANCY: Well, now that we're talking about it, I do remember [[a few things. Mostly . . .|sh8]] <<audio "55_y_n_ISaidThat" play>>\

<<audio "55_y_n_ISaidThat" stop>>\ [[. . . that feeling of calm.|shc]] [[. . . being next to you.|shn]]

YANCY: I remember that feeling of calm. Jittery, but calm. YANCY: Thinking back, it kind of helped. Like this safe fog had surrounded me and my friend, erasing everything stressful. YANCY: The house was always tense, even when I was a little kid. [[There was this smog over Mom, and if I did something "wrong", it would engulf me.|sh9]] YANCY: I blamed myself for a long time, but now I know she was just an abusive prick. <<audio "56_y_n_JitteryButCalm" play>>\

YANCY:I remember being next to you. NEKONI: Yeah? YANCY: Yeah. You were someone I always felt safe with, especially when we were at your place. YANCY: You were such a good friend to me. . . [[If it wasn’t for my mom, I wouldn’t have lost touch with you.|shn1]] <<audio "57_y_n_NextToYou" play>>\

<<audio "56_y_n_JitteryButCalm" stop>>\ <<audio "58_y_n_JustGetAway" stop>>\ NEKONI: I guess [[even back then, before you had the words for what your mom was doing to you, you were trying to get away.|sh10]] YANCY: Yeah. . . I guess I was. YANCY: And now . . . I guess I have. <<audio "58.1_y_n_EvenBackThen" play>>\

<<audio "57_y_n_NextToYou" stop>>\ NEKONI: Oh yeah? YANCY: Yeah. YANCY: Basically, I started to realize what Mom was doing after we graduated, when I was getting ready to go to college. I started to see that she was a toxic, abusive person. YANCY: And know that made me want to just . . . <i>get away</i>. From <i>everything</i>. That’s why I killed my blog and old socials. [[I wanted a completely fresh start.|sh9]] NEKONI: Wow. That’s crazy. <<audio "58_y_n_JustGetAway" play>>\

<<audio "58.1_y_n_EvenBackThen" stop>>\ NEKONI: That's a victory, right? YANCY: (sniffle) I didn't know it would feel so . . . [[bittersweet.|sh11]] <<audio "59_y_n_Bittersweet" play>>\

<<audio "59_y_n_Bittersweet" stop>>\ I burst into tears, not sure why I'm even crying. Neckoni comforts me over the phone. "There, there," she says. "[[You're going to be ok.|sh12]]"

I [[hope|end]] those words are true. <<set $lastnote to "nekoni">>\

Even today, it's sometimes hard to resist [[those thought patterns|sr2]]. She always told me she was doing things "for your own good" for "because I have your best interests at heart". It’s so frustrating. . . I need to talk to someone about this.

I take my phone from my pocket, and decide to call [[Artemis|sr3]]. The first call goes to voicemail, but she answers the second.

ARTEMIS: Hi Yancy! How are you? YANCY: I'm doing ok, I guess. I'm currently thinking about my mom. . . ARTEMIS: Oh, yeah, that's gotta be really hard. From everything you told us about her in the server, she sounded like a super awful person. ARTEMIS: What [[specifically|sr4]] are you thinking about? <<audio "60_y_a_Specifically" play>>\

<<audio "60_y_a_Specifically" stop>>\ YANCY: That's why I called you, actually. YANCY: I know you said I could talk to you about her abuse, since you know what it's like to be in an abusive relationship, so. . . YANCY: . . . How do you not blame yourself? [[For not seeing the signs.|sr5]] I didn’t realize my mom was abusive until it was way too late, and even though she's dead, it's hard to fall out of her way of thinking. <<audio "61_y_a_NotBlameYourself" play>>\

<<audio "61_y_a_NotBlameYourself" stop>>\ YANCY: I wish I'd known how awful she was back then. . . ARTEMIS: I understand what you're saying. But I think you're [[forgetting something important|sr6]]. YANCY: What's that? <<audio "62_y_a_Forgetting" play>>\

<<audio "62_y_a_Forgetting" stop>>\ ARTEMIS: Abusers are, well. . . They're kind of good at what they do. And making people think they're not doing anything wrong. ARTEMIS: Basically, [[abusers are good at abusing.|sr7]] And we as their victims shouldn't blame ourselves for being fooled, or for getting them stuck in our heads. It's not our fault they're so good at being evil! (laughs) <<audio "63_y_a_GoodAtAbusing" play>>\

<<audio "63_y_a_GoodAtAbusing" stop>>\ YANCY: . . . YANCY: I mean, when you put it like that, I mean. . . YANCY: Damn. I really can't argue with that. ARTEMIS: Good! (laughs) ARTEMIS: Try not to be too hard on yourself, ok? YANCY: I'll try. I just wish I was in a better place by now. ARTEMIS: [[What kind of place do you want to be in?|sr8]] YANCY: Well. . . <<audio "64_y_a_BetterPlace" play>>\

<<audio "64_y_a_BetterPlace" stop>>\ I talk with Artemis about the things I learned from Mom that I want gone, and she shares some of her own, things she learned from her ex. We reminisce about our respective abusers, but it doesn't feel sad or awful to talk about; [[it feels a little bit hopeful.|end]] Maybe I'll be ok after all. <<set $lastnote to "artemis">>\

The "[[good mom|sw2]]" that . . .

<div style="text-align: left;"><<if visited("swq")>>==. . .accepted my queerness.==<<else>>[[. . .accepted my queerness.|swq]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><<if visited("swa")>>==. . . realized I’m autistic.==<<else>>[[. . . realized I’m autistic.|swa]]<<endif>></div>

The mom who could've accepted me for who I am, and really loved me for me. But that version of her doesn't exist. [[It never existed in the first place.|swq1]]

My mom was a <i>nurse</i>, for heaven's sake. But she never realized I was autistic; I had to find out for myself in college! A lot of the things she got mad at me for when I was growing up—asking about what we were doing that day, answering her questions in a more logical way, being confused by phrasing and asking what she meant—were just my autism in action. Why'd she have to make me feel so [[awful about a natural part of myself|swa1]]?

Sometimes it felt like she hated me because of my queerness, because it "made her look bad". Like she only gave birth to me to have a son who clung to her every word, [[not a person|swq2]] with their own thoughts & feelings about who they are.

I feel despair filling me–that’s a sign I should probably talk to a friend about this. But who? Maybe [[Rainer|sw3]]? I decide to dial their number. To my surprise, they pick up right away.

RAINER: Heeeeey Yancy! It's good to hear from you! YANCY: Thanks, Rainer. I'm kind of [[going through it|sw4]] right now. RAINER: Aw man, I'm sorry to hear that. Your mom's funeral was not too long ago, right? And with everything you told us about her in the server, I can't imagine what you're going through right now. YANCY: Yeah. <<audio "65_y_r_Heeeeey" play>>\

<<audio "65_y_r_Heeeeey" stop>>\ YANCY: Right now I'm just, like. . . I don't know. I think part of the grief is grieving for the Mom I didn't get to have. RAINER: Yeah? YANCY: Yeah. The "good" [[version|sw5]] of her, who changed and apologized for everything, or even never was abusive to begin with. <<audio "66_y_r_TheGoodHer" play>>\

<<audio "66_y_r_TheGoodHer" stop>>\ YANCY: And <i>especially</i> a version of her that wasn't so conservative and homophobic. A mom could accept that I'm not her son, but her agender child. YANCY: She was so . . . <i>adamant</i> on [[not seeing me|sw6]] for who I was. To the point that sometimes I wonder if she regretted having me. YANCY: (sigh) I don't know. . . It's complicated. <<audio "67_y_r_Adamant" play>>\

<<audio "67_y_r_Adamant" stop>>\ RAINER: I feel you there. I totally get what you're saying. YANCY: Yeah? RAINER: Yep! My parents never liked my feminine side. When I came out as nonbinary. They didn't exactly approve. RAINER: But it wasn't until I started dating Steven that my queerness became, like, <i>real</i> to them. Like, "Oh, Ryan's dating another guy, so he <i>must</i> be gay!" It was a hot mess. RAINER: I'm happier now that I've gone low contact. Steven's trying to convince me to cut contact entirely, but . . . they're [[still my parents|sw7]], you know? So it's not easy for me to just throw them out of my life. <<audio "68_y_r_LowContact" play>>\

<<audio "68_y_r_LowContact" stop>>\ RAINER: I'm sure you felt the same way about your mom, right? I remember you telling us in the server that you, "tolerated her every time you went to see her." YANCY: Yeah, pretty much. RAINER: Anyway, my point is: some parents are gonna be angry, stupid bigots. We all wish they could change, but they're too stuck in their ways to give us the love we need. Just gotta give yourself [[some extra love|sw8]], since they can't. <<audio "69_y_r_AngryStupidBigots" play>>\

<<audio "69_y_r_AngryStupidBigots" stop>>\ YANCY: Yeah. . . (sigh) I guess that makes sense. RAINER: You especially need some extra love, with [[everything|sw9]] you're going through right now. So don't hesitate to lean on me and everyone else in the server, ok?" YANCY: I'll try. Thanks, Rainer. RAINER: Anytime! <<audio "70_y_r_ExtraLove" play>>\

<<audio "70_y_r_ExtraLove" stop>>\ We end up chatting some more about our respective queer journeys, and hearing [[so many similarities about our parents|end]] helps a bit. I hang up the phone, feeling satisfied. <<set $lastnote to "rainer">>\

I should talk to [[Beck|swa2]] about this. E would understand. I give em a call, and it takes a few rings for em to pick up.

BECK: Oh, Yancy! Hi! Um, are you ok? YANCY: Not really. . . BECK: Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. Your mom's funeral was recently, right? From everything you said on the server about her, um, it all sounds [[really hard|swa3]]. . . YANCY: Yeah. Is it ok if I talk to you about it? BECK: Oh, sure! Go ahead. YANCY: Ok. <<audio "71_y_be_HiUm" play>>\

<<audio "71_y_be_HiUm" stop>>\ YANCY: Right now I'm just, like. . . I don't know. I think part of the grief is grieving for [[the Mom I didn't get to have.|swa4]] BECK: "The Mom you didn't get to have"? YANCY: Yeah. The "good" version of her, who changed and apologized for everything, or even never was abusive to begin with. <<audio "72_y_be_GoodVersion" play>>\

<<audio "72_y_be_GoodVersion" stop>>\ YANCY: And specifically, a version of her that realized I was autistic, and didn't yell at me for just . . . for just being myself! YANCY: I grew up thinking that my neurodivergent brain was something awful to be [[ashamed|swa5]] of, all because of how she reacted to it! It sucked! YANCY: (sigh) I don't know. . . It's complicated. <<audio "73_y_be_Autistic" play>>\

<<audio "73_y_be_Autistic" stop>>\ BECK: I see. . . That's something I can understand, too. YANCY: Really? BECK: Um, yeah! BECK: I didn't find out I was autistic until senior year of high school, when my dad had me tested for it. It was a real wakeup call. BECK: My dad wanted to do everything he could to support me, by my mom was . . . less than pleased. (laughs awkwardly) BECK: She would take me out on these special outings, just me and her, and insist that there was "nothing wrong with me" because I was a "smart kid". [[She was in total denial|swa6]], and wanted me to deny it too. <<audio "74_y_be_SmartKid" play>>\

<<audio "74_y_be_SmartKid" stop>>\ BECK: I'm not in contact with her anymore, because with her in my life, it was really difficult to get the support I needed for my autism. She was always trying to stop me from getting accommodations and stuff. BECK: Anyway, sorry, I got a little carried away. . . I'm trying to say that, um, [[I get it.|swa7]] I hope that came across. <<audio "75_y_be_IGetIt" play>>\

<<audio "75_y_be_IGetIt" stop>>\ YANCY: It did. Thank you. BECK: No problem! BECK: I think we all wish our parents were better at handling the things about us we didn't understand. . . I guess [[the reassuring thing is that it's in our hands now, not theirs.|swa8]] YANCY: Yeah, thank fucking God. (laughs) BECK: (laughs) Yeah! <<audio "76_y_be_OurHandsNow" play>>\

<<audio "76_y_be_OurHandsNow" stop>>\ We end up chatting some more about our respective autism. Beck tells me about eir experiences, and gives me some advice on accommodations too. I hang up the phone [[feeling a little better|end]] about things. <<set $lastnote to "beck">>\

Her temperament. Her awfulness. [[Her abusive nature. . .|c2]]

Fuck. I’m definitely [[not laughing anymore.|c2.1]]

My biggest fear is turning into my mother, being awful to the people around me without knowing it, [[thinking I'm in the right and I'm a Good Person but really I'm a Piece Of SHIT—!|c3]]

I try to breathe. Try not to panic. That’s [[definitely not easy.|c4]]

<div style="text-align: left;"><<if visited("cg")>>==I REALLY AM BECOMING HER OH GOD!==<<else>>[[I REALLY AM BECOMING HER OH GOD!|cg]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: center;"><<if visited("cn")>>==No, I’m not becoming her.==<<else>>[[No, I’m not becoming her.|cn]]<<endif>></div> <div style="text-align: right;"><<if visited("ca")>>==In a way, I already am her.==<<else>>[[In a way, I already am her.|ca]]<<endif>></div>

It's like they said at the funeral, [[I am my mother's son. Nothing is ever going to fucking change that.|cg1]]

By doing this, I'm destroying her. I'm making sure not a single bit of her ashes remain in this world. It feels evil to think that. But that's the truth. [[She doesn't deserve to exist anymore. As punishment|cn1]] for everything she did to me, destroying her is a merciful act.

I am my mother's son. And since she raised me, she taught me everything I know about being a person, <<if $speech is "gave">>[[good and bad|cag]]<<else>>[[good and bad|cah]]<<endif>>.

She hurt me so much, fed me poisonous behaviors as a child and all the way until she died. [[What of that have I ingested and never spit out?|cg2]]

I was [[doomed to become her from the start.|cg3]]

Hands trembling, I pull out my phone and dial [[Hendrix|cg4]]’s number, putting him on speaker. He picks up after two rings.

HENDRIX: Yancy! Hello, how are y—" YANCY: (bursting into tears) Hendrix, [[I'M A BAD PERSON!|cg5]] <<audio "77_y_HandH_BADPERSON" play>>\

<<audio "77_y_HandH_BADPERSON" stop>>\ The words burst out of me the second he picks up the phone, and [[I sob, unable to contain my despair.|cg6]]

HENDRIX: Hey, hey, it’s ok! Hold on, [[let me get Horizon.|cg7]] <<audio "78_y_HandH_GetHorizon" play>>\

<<audio "78_y_HandH_GetHorizon" stop>>\ There’s [[a pause, and then:|cg8]]

HORIZON: Yancy, what’s wrong? HENDRIX: Let’s [[give them a moment|cg9]], babe. HORIZON: Oh, right. Sorry. <<audio "79_y_HandH_AMoment" play>>\

<<audio "79_y_HandH_AMoment" stop>>\ As I cry, they gently soothe me with, "There, there,"s and, "It’s ok,"s. When I’m finally done, that’s when [[Horizon speaks up again.|cg10]]

HORIZON: Now, tell us. . . What’s wrong? Hendrix told me that you think [[you’re a bad person|cg11]]? YANCY: (sniff) I don’t think it, Horizon; I know I am. HORIZON: (gentle) And why would you think that, Yancy? YANCY: B-Because. . .! <<audio "80_y_HandH_IKnowIAm" play>>\

<<audio "80_y_HandH_IKnowIAm" stop>>\ [[Tears|cg12]] trickle down my face as I speak.

YANCY: My mom. . . She was such an awful human being. An awful human being who raised me, and made me who I am now. YANCY: I can <i>feel</i> pieces of her inside me, and I’m scared there’s no way of getting it all out. YANCY: That I’m [[becoming her. . .|cg13]] <<audio "81_y_HandH_BecomingHer" play>>\

<<audio "81_y_HandH_BecomingHer" stop>>\ HORIZON: Yancy, no. That’s not true. HENDRIX: Yeah! Your mother <i>chose</i> to be the way she was to you. That’s the thing about being a person: we all have choices in how we act, and what behaviors we retain or let go of. HENDRIX: You’ve chosen to become a different person than her, a better person. You’re your own individual; you’re not [[her|cg14]]. HORIZON: Couldn’t have said it better myself, dear. <<audio "82_y_HandH_OwnIndividual" play>>\

<<audio "82_y_HandH_OwnIndividual" stop>>\ They’re probably right. [[Still|cg15]], I can’t help but retort:

<div style="text-align: left;">[["But what if things about her are ingrained in me?"|cgi]]</div> <div style="text-align: center;">[["Sometimes I don't feel like I have a choice."|cgc]]</div> <div style="text-align: right;">[["I want to be better than her, but I don't know if I'm doing enough."|cgb]]</div>

YANCY: But what if things about her are <i>ingrained</i> in me? YANCY: What if they're buried [[so deep inside, there's no way they're ever going to get out?|cg16]] YANCY: Parts of me that are stuck in there no matter what I do? No matter who I become or what I try to change? <<audio "83_y_HandH_Ingrained" play>>\

YANCY: Sometimes I don't feel like I have a choice. YANCY: Like no matter what paths I choose in life, I'm [[destined|cg16]] to find my way back to the road Mom put me towards by abusing me. YANCY: Maybe I feel this way because Mom gave me more commands than choices growing up. I don't know. YANCY: I just don't know. <<audio "84_y_HandH_AChoice" play>>\

YANCY: I want to be better than her, but I don't know if I'm doing enough. YANCY: Is being kind to others enough? Mom was kind to other people too. YANCY: Having friends who care about me? Mom had that too. YANCY: Is there really such a big difference between her & me? What if [[I'm just like her, but I keep my awful side hidden better than she did?|cg16]] <<audio "85_y_HandH_Enough" play>>\

<<audio "83_y_HandH_Ingrained" stop>>\ <<audio "84_y_HandH_AChoice" stop>>\ <<audio "85_y_HandH_Enough" stop>>\ HORIZON: You’re not a bad person, and it’s never too late to change things. You’re nothing like your mother, Yancy. HENDRIX: Yeah! Trust on that, ok? YANCY: (laughs) You two have known me for a long time now. . . [[I guess|cg17]] I have to take your word for it! HENDRIX: Darn right! (laughs) <<audio "86_y_HandH_IGuess" play>>\

<<audio "86_y_HandH_IGuess" stop>>\ HORIZON: Does that help you feel a little better? YANCY: Yeah, a little. . . Thanks. HENDRIX: Anytime! HORIZON: We can stay on the phone with you for a while, if you’d like. How have you been doing lately? YANCY: [[Well. . .|cg18]] <<audio "87_y_HandH_ALittleBetter" play>>\

<<audio "87_y_HandH_ALittleBetter" stop>>\ I talk with Hendrix & Horizon for a little bit longer. By the time I get off the phone with them, I feel a <i>little</i> bit more like my own person, separate from my mom. [[Maybe|end]] I’m really not her. We’ll just have to see. <<set $lastnote to "handh">>\

[[Does that make me a bad person?|cn2]]

<div style="text-align: left;">[[Yes, but I don’t care.|cny]]</div> <div style="text-align: right;">[[No, I’m justified.|cnn]]</div>

If it means punishing her, I don't care how [[bad|cn3]] I am. <<set $badperson to "yes">>

This is [[justice|cn3]] more than anything else.<<set $badperson to "no">>

For some reason, I feel the need to talk to someone about this. [[Mack would probably get it. . .|cn4]] I take out my phone and dial his number. He picks up after three rings.

MACK: Hey, Yancy. Everything ok? YANCY: Yes, kind of? I think. . . YANCY: I'm thinking about my mom right now. MACK: Oof, yeah. That's gotta be rough. Especially from everything you’ve told me about [[her|c5]]. YANCY: Yeah. <<audio "88_y_m_Rough" play>>\

<<audio "88_y_m_Rough" stop>>\ YANCY: And I'm trying to destroy her ashes right now, but I feel like that might make me a <<if $badperson is "yes">>[[bad, evil person|c5y]]<<else>>[[bad, evil person|c5n]]<<endif>>. <<audio "89_y_m_DestroyHerAshes" play>>\

<<audio "90_y_m_IfImEvil" play>>\ YANCY: Fuck it, though. [[If I'm evil, I'm evil.|c6]] <<audio "89_y_m_DestroyHerAshes" stop>>\

<<audio "91_y_m_JustifiedButStill" play>>\ YANCY: It feels [[justified, sure, but still. . .|c6]] <<audio "89_y_m_DestroyHerAshes" stop>>\

<<audio "90_y_m_IfImEvil" stop>>\ <<audio "91_y_m_JustifiedButStill" stop>>\ MACK: I don't think you're evil for doing that. . . MACK: You're mom's a lot like my mom, and [[both of them suck. Screw them.|c7]] <<audio "92_y_m_ScrewThem" play>>\

<<audio "92_y_m_ScrewThem" stop>>\ MACK: You're mom's dead, so what she wanted doesn't matter anymore; this is about you. If destroying those ashes makes you feel better, [[then do it.|c8]] Fuck her! YANCY: (laughs) Yeah, fuck her! <<audio "93_y_m_ThisIsAboutYou" play>>\

<<audio "93_y_m_ThisIsAboutYou" stop>>\ YANCY: Thanks, man. I feel [[a little better|c9]] after hearing that. MACK: Anytime. <<audio "94_y_m_GettingHigh" play>>\

<<audio "94_y_m_GettingHigh" stop>>\ The two of us continue chatting, and once I get Mack on my side as far as the disposal method goes, the two of us end up laughing together. I stay on the phone with him for as long as I can, and we swap stories about our [[shitty parents|end]]. <<set $lastnote to "mack">>\

She taught me things I now do without really thinking about it. How to write a card, to put words that tell someone you really care. How to listen, really listen, when someone's upset. How to sing; how to laugh; how to be a good friend. She was an awful person, and I hate her, but I can't deny that [[she made me who I am today. For better or worse.|ca1]]

That you should expect someone to know what you need without saying anything. How if you use God to cover up your bad actions, it's ok. [[How to make people fear you and obey.|cah1]]

Maybe I should ask my friend [[Laz. He is a dad, after all. . .|ca2]] I decide to call him, and he picks up right away.

She taught me all the things I hate about myself. Some of those things I've purged, but others are still there, [[like leeches latched onto my skin.|ca1]] Why is it so hard to change these things? Why can't it be easy?

LAZ: Hello? Yancy? YANCY: Hey! I have a weird question for you, if you have a minute. LAZ: Yeah, I got time! What's up? YANCY: As a parent, like . . . [[how can you handle that responsibility?|ca3]] The idea that you're teaching your daughter how to live in the world, giving her behaviors you learned from your parents and they learned from theirs—how do you handle that without thinking you'll fuck things up for her somehow?! <<audio "95_y_l_WeirdQuestion" play>>\

<<audio "95_y_l_WeirdQuestion" stop>>\ LAZ: Huh. That's . . . quite the question you got there. YANCY: Sorry. (sigh) I've just been thinking a lot about my own shitty mom today. LAZ: It's ok. I know you've been going through a lot since your mom died, from what you've said on the server. LAZ: To answer the question . . . um. . . Geez, [[how do I put this into words?|ca4]] <<audio "96_y_l_GeezHow" play>>\

<<audio "96_y_l_GeezHow" stop>>\ LAZ: I know it's true that some of what I teach Lyla was passed down to me from my parents and their parents and whatnot. You know? LAZ: For me, the most important thing is to keep the good I learned from my folks and make sure the bad doesn't get passed down to [[my girl|ca5]]. <<audio "97_y_l_KeepTheGood" play>>\

<<audio "97_y_l_KeepTheGood" stop>>\ LAZ: Like, as an example, my dad always told me that things in the house weren't fair or kind because life isn't fair and the world is cruel. It gave me a negative outlook on the people around me and the situations I faced in life, until I learned to change my perspective. LAZ: I can't protect my daughter from the bad things in life, and I don't want to coddle her from the world. But I do want to teach her that there are good people out there, and [[life, despite its badness, has beauty & positivity.|ca6]] <<audio "98_y_l_GoodPeople" play>>\

<<audio "98_y_l_GoodPeople" stop>>\ LAZ: Does that make sense? Or help at all? YANCY: Yeah. . . I think so. YANCY: Sorry for calling out of the blue like that. LAZ: (laughs) It's ok! I've never put [[all of that into words before|ca7]], so I actually appreciate that. YANCY: Well, I'm glad I could help then! (laughs) <<audio "99_y_l_IntoWords" play>>\

<<audio "99_y_l_IntoWords" stop>>\ YANCY: Though I should probably make up for it by asking how you're doing, so: [[how's life?|ca8]] LAZ: Thanks for asking! Life is pretty decent. Roger and I are taking Lyla to the carnival this weekend. . . <<audio "100_y_l_HowsLife" play>>\

<<audio "100_y_l_HowsLife" stop>>\ I listen to Laz talk about his family, and can't help but smile. His commitment to being a good parent is admirable. [[Even if I never had that|end]], I'm happy for him & Lyla. <<set $lastnote to "laz">>\

I get the brownie pan and give it a look. It's [[finally empty now. . .|trueend1]]

a mini-sequel to <i>[[Yancy At The End Of The World!|https://norbez.itch.io/yancy-at-the-end-of-the-world]]</i> written & programmed by [[Norbez Jones|https://norbezjones.carrd.co/]] [[voice acting credits|vas]] Special thanks to HikariKenzaki for beta testing, and to 1000dumplings for beta testing & additional story help. [[rewind?|33]] <<if visited() is 9>>(One more call. Don’t give up on me now.)<<elseif visited() is 1>>(We’re only getting started, so please don’t go. I need you in order to do this.)<<elseif visited() lte 3>>(There we go. One at a time. . .)<<elseif visited() is 4>>(We’re making good progress so far; we can’t stop now.)<<elseif visited() is 5>>(We’re making good progress so far; we can’t stop now.)<<elseif visited() gte 6>>{Just a few more, come on, we can finish this.)<<endif>>

Yancy: [[HattyVA|https://x.com/HattyVA]] Nekoni: [[Aurora Ave-L.|https://x.com/RoraAveVA]] Hendrix: [[MetaStarVA|https://www.youtube.com/@MetaStarVA]] Horizon: [[Robin Castelle|https://x.com/Castellio_]] Caleb: [[Eri Astral|https://x.com/EriAstral]] Mack: [[Shaden Blake|https://www.twitch.tv/caioblackwood_vt]] Banjo: [[Steven Jobson|https://x.com/JobsonVO]] Artemis: [[Oppai Princess|https://linktr.ee/TheOppaiPrincess]] Rainer: [[LunarLegacy|https://x.com/LunarLegacyVA]] Laz: [[LolsytheVA|https://x.com/LolsytheVA]] Beck: [[Lunar Star Sam|https://www.instagram.com/lunar_star_sam/]] Volt: [[Julian Dailey|https://www.juliandailey.com/]] Pastor Dalton: [[Conlin Rei|https://x.com/ConlinRei]] Funeral Women: [[Otto Murasaki|https://www.youtube.com/@otto-murasaki]] Funeral Man: [[Ryan Gaiser|https://ryangaiservo.com/]] [[rewind?|33]] <<if visited() is 9>>(One more call. Don’t give up on me now.)<<elseif visited() is 1>>(We’re only getting started, so please don’t go. I need you in order to do this.)<<elseif visited() lte 3>>(There we go. One at a time. . .)<<elseif visited() is 4>>(We’re making good progress so far; we can’t stop now.)<<elseif visited() is 5>>(We’re making good progress so far; we can’t stop now.)<<elseif visited() gte 6>>{Just a few more, come on, we can finish this.)<<endif>>

<<audio "104_y_ThankYou" stop>>\ a mini-sequel to <i>[[Yancy At The End Of The World!|https://norbez.itch.io/yancy-at-the-end-of-the-world]]</i> written & programmed by [[Norbez Jones|https://norbezjones.carrd.co/]] [[voice acting credits|vas_true] Special thanks to HikariKenzaki for beta testing, and to 1000dumplings for beta testing & additional story help. <<set $true to "yes">> [[restart, wipe everything and do it all over again|restart]]

<span id="loading">loading. . .</span> <<timed 2s t8n>><<replace "#loading" t8n>>[[erasure complete. memory wiped.|Start]]<</replace>><</timed>>

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<<if $lastnote is "banjo">>\ I was just a kid when it all started. Because of that, abuse was modeled to me as normal behavior. In college, I realized how many negative things I emulated from my mom and did everything I could to change them. I shouldn’t have to live as her copy. I know I only judge my younger self because I have the benefit of hindsight. But it’s hard to <i>not</i> want to go back and change things, imagine what I could have done. Hey, maybe that’ll be the next game–I know that’s something <i>I’d</i> look forward to seeing. <<elseif $lastnote is "caleb">>\ That was a hard letter to write. For the obvious reason of my mom being, well, my mom, but also . . . I shouldn’t have asked Caleb to help me. I was so tempted to bring up what I’m doing today with the brownies, write that in the letter as the biggest fuck you to Mom. But I didn’t want Caleb to know about it, since I was reading the words aloud, so I didn’t say anything. I don’t want him to judge me or think I’m crazy; I don’t want to lose him. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the letter now. Keeping it feels like a burden on my back, but disposing of it feels like the easy way out. I suppose I’ll let it sit for a while, then decide. I do wonder . .since this is a game, does the life I live within that matter? Does Mom’s death matter if the grief is digitized? Is it enough that it matters to <i>me</i>, within this space we’re in? Did the letter ever exist as a physical object, or do it and its contents only exist in my mind? <<elseif $lastnote is "volt">>\ Volt gave me better advice than I thought he would. . . It felt uncharacteristic of him. Like someone else was speaking in his place. Anyway, I still HATE that he’s right. That my stupid hypothetical is nothing more than a dream. An imaginary undo button that will never exist. And that all I can do is move forward and be better. I wish there was an easy way to improve. That I could be better than my mom with a snap of my fingers. But that can’t happen. It’s all hard, painful work. I hope destroying her ashes will get me closer to going to where I want to be. Though . . . if I asked the game’s creator to reset me, erase those feelings, I wonder if they would do it or not? <<elseif $lastnote is "nekoni">>\ It’s not surprising that I don’t remember saying those things to Nekoni. Thanks to Mom, a lot of my childhood is hazy, including my teenage years–I remember the therapist I had in college said C-PTSD really affects the brain and can cause memory loss. At least I still remember the feeling. As for getting away. . . I mean, I <i>said</i> I did on the phone, but thinking about it now, I’m not sure if I truly have. Mom’s ghost still haunts me–otherwise, why would I be doing all of this in the first place? I hope when I finish these brownies, I’ll finally be rid of her. At this point, it’s my last hope. Nekoni doesn’t know what’s in the brownies. I told her they’re "special" but I didn’t tell her why, didn’t share the special ingredient. If she learned what’s really in them . . . I’m sure she’d think I was literally insane, and wouldn’t want to be my friend anymore. So I can’t tell her. Ever. Not that I could, anyway. I don’t think the game is programmed that way. <<elseif $lastnote is "artemis">>\ Abusers are good at abusing. . . I know Artemis is right. Otherwise, why would Mom have been able to fool everyone so thoroughly, including everyone at First Faith? Pastor Dalton’s speech made her sound like a fucking saint! Though, Artemis calling Mom "evil" didn’t sit right with me. . . I do hate my mom, but I wouldn’t call her completely evil or the devil. Maybe because I always thought that there was the teeniest, tiniest chance that she could change. Hope the size of a mustard seed. And that seed always got stomped on and spit on and beat up, but it still held on with a smidgen of life. And now . . . it’s dead. Because Mom’s in the grave now, and so is any chance of her changing. I guess I’m swallowing down that seed along with the ashes today. Oh, the creator told me they were inspired by something called "Free Churro" for this. I have no idea what that means. <<elseif $lastnote is "rainer">>\ It’s hard to lean on everyone in the server for support. Somehow, calling people individually feels less vulnerable then typing out my struggles for everyone to see. I know Rainer’s right, but still, it’s not easy. Besides, if ANYONE in the server knew what I was doing right now with my mom’s ashes, I’m sure they would see me as a freak. A fucked-up monster doing something crazy. Nekoni knows I’ve baked some "special brownies" today, but even she doesn’t know what’s really in them. I did all of this because of an old promise I made to her, but would she see it as something good at all? More likely, she’d see it as awful. . . Don’t want to spiral, so I’m changing the subject. Regarding queerness, I remember when I first came out as agender to my mom. I was home from college. We sat down at the kitchen table, and I told her about my gender journey, what I’d realized about myself, and that I use they/them now. Making sure to explain basic queer stuff very simply, because she obviously wasn’t educated on it. She looked pained, horrified, and went over all these verses in the Bible about "man and woman", saying over & over that those were the only two genders God made, and every other identity was sinful. It hurt. A lot. A few days later, I was in the kitchen, and she told me that I seemed happier since coming out to her, lighter. And I was. It hurts that she noticed that showing her my queerness made me happy, but that wasn’t enough to try and embrace it. I came out to her because I felt I owed it to her. Because she’s my mom. I don’t know if I regret it or not. <<elseif $lastnote is "beck">>\ When I was a kid, the bathroom was my happy place. So when Mom’s yelling overwhelmed me, I would go to the bathroom, lock the door, and lie down on the floor. Something about the cold temperature, the texture . . . it comforted me. And I would stim in there, rock my body and/or head back and forth, to feel better. I remember one time, I was doing this, and Mom was still angry at me. She banged on the door, which only made me stim more, and eventually she opened the bathroom door with the key. When she saw me, I was crying and stimming, so very upset. Something about it made her yell, "You need some serious help! I need to send you to a therapist." An appointment was scheduled the very next day. <<elseif $lastnote is "handh">>\ I didn’t tell them the truth, and I feel bad. I only said I have to take their words for it because I wanted the conversation to be over. I still feel scared that I’m not fully my own person, that too much of me is my mother. That there’s no avoiding that. I know part of it is not bad. After all, she wasn’t a demon from hell. She taught me good things that have stuck with me for the rest of my life. But a lot of the things she passed down were bad, poisonous. I’ve been ingesting poison since I was a child, so I got used to the taste. It was only when I got to college that I found out, oh yeah, DRINKING POISON ISN’T NORMAL. I don’t know. I wish I could be rid of her for good, that once her coffin went in the ground, all of my troubles were buried with it. But that’s not how life works. I’m hoping finishing these brownies will help me banish her ghost, or at least take away its power. And if it doesn’t do that, well, I guess it’ll just be a type of desecration, like pissing on a grave. A pure defilement of the body entrusted to me. A final fuck you. And that’s at least something. <<elseif $lastnote is "mack">>\ That conversation helped a lot, honestly. Mack is right–this isn’t about Mom anymore; this is about me, about my life & my grieving process. I have to put myself first in these things. I guess that’s why I’m eating these brownies–I’m putting myself before Mom and respecting her corpse. My way of grieving her, the opposite of honoring her. All about me and my own fulfillment. Of all of my friends, Mack’s the one who’d most likely be chill with what I’m doing. But I still couldn’t tell him, couldn’t risk it. I don’t want to lose Mom <i>and</i> my friends, too! I think I actually <i>did</i> tell him in an earlier version of the game, but the creator didn’t end up keeping that. Probably because things would get complicated. <<elseif $lastnote is "laz">>\ Thanks to Mom, there is no chance of me ever becoming a parent. I’m too afraid of fucking it all up like she did, ruining my child without realizing it and thinking that everything I did was right. I’ll just stick with my fur baby, thanks. God, I don’t even know how Laz would react if he knew what I was doing right now. "So, I’m actually eating the ashes of my own shitty parent right now. Better be good to Lyla, or she’ll do the same thing to you!" Jesus Christ. <<endif>>\ <<if visited() is 2>>\ (I know this is a game. I know you’re reading this.) <<elseif visited() is 4>>\ (I’ve been trying to stay calm. To not crack and tell anyone what I’m doing. I know, logically, that I’m programmed to not lose it with my friends, and to not tell them. But I like to imagine I’m in control of that. It makes me feel better.) <<elseif visited() is 6>>\ (Some of my friends’ advice is, well, exactly what I need to hear. To the point that it’s something I’m surprised a few of them would say. It’s too perfect, if that makes sense. I know <i>why</i> that is–it’s because it was written to be the right words. Should I be thankful for that, or weirded out?) <<elseif visited() is 8>>\ (I’ve been wondering how much of this game and my actions are our own doing, and how much is the one who created it. I remember em saying that the games are a part of eir soul, that I’m part of em. That Mom is based on eir Mom. Am I just a vessel to convey eir own thoughts & feelings?) <<elseif visited() is 9>>\ (Maybe I, and all the complicated feelings swirling inside of me, only matter because I & they matter to em. I don’t know if I can be satisfied with that.) <<endif>>\ I put the note down and [[return my focus to the task at hand.|34]]

I really did it. . . I really <i>[[did|trueend2]]</i> it. . . Holy fuck.

Adrenaline courses through my veins, overpowering the tiredness I feel in my high. With it comes horror & disgust for cannibalizing <i>my own fucking mother</i>, along with [[a sick feeling of victory.|trueend3]]

Nausea fills me, and within comes an overpowering sense of guilt. [[Is this technically a murder? Have I killed Mom all over again?|trueend4]] In a way, that’s what I wanted, but now that I’ve <i>done</i> it, I feel awful, physically & mentally. But I’m also smiling manically, and resisting the urge to let out a bout of laughter.

[[I feel. . .|trueend5]]

<div style="text-align: left;">[[good.|trueend5]]</div> <div style="text-align: right;">[[bad.|trueend5]]</div> <<timed 2s t8n>> <<goto "trueend6">> <</timed>>

No no, YOU don’t get to decide for me this time! I want to decide how I’m feeling [[for MYSELF.|trueend7]]

[[. . .|trueend8]]

I know I told you to replay so I could eat all of the brownies. I did that. And now, I wish I didn’t. I’ve disposed of a body. I’ve done something terrible. [[Does Mom, the worst person I’ve ever met, really deserve this kind of treatment?|trueend9]]

I start hyperventilating, and grab the arm of the couch to keep myself steady. Babbit hops off of my lap and rubs against my legs, whining in worry. I pick him up and hold him tight as my breathing slows. Then, I start laughing, even harder than I did at the beginning of the high. [[I laugh and laugh and laugh, tears streaming down my face as I do so.|trueend10]]

At the end of the day, [[I did this, thanks to you.|trueend11]] And there’s no undoing that, unless I could somehow go back in time or erase my memory.

Maybe this is a breaking point. Or maybe it’s a new beginning. [[We’ll just have to wait and see which one.|fin]]

My arms are still sore from mixing the batter. [[Ashes|30]] don't incorporate very easily with the cheap box mix. There were also a lot more in the urn than I’d thought there would be. But somehow, I made it work.